EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND - 13th warrior sequel fanfiction story script and screenplay
EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND - 13th warrior sequel fanfiction story
A mythic war epic continuation of The 13th Warrior / Eaters of the Dead: the second journey north of Ahmed ibn Fadlan, where history and legend collide again — but this time, the Vikings’ enemies are united against a returning primeval tribe.
EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND
Written by: Kalifornia Jani & ChatGPT
FADE IN:
EXT. VOLGA RIVER – DUSK
A small Arab trading galley rows north through mist and pine smoke. The river glows red like iron.
At the prow stands AHMED IBN FADLĀN, older now — his beard gray, his eyes wiser.
AHMED (V.O.)
In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful…
I swore never to return to the cold lands. But memory is a river that bends where it wills.
He fingers a bronze rune-coin — a gift from Buliwyf’s men, long ago.
EXT. NORDIC COAST – NIGHT
The sea burns. Longships aflame.
Men in bear cloaks fight others with red wolf banners — Nordic clans vs. Rūs mercenaries.
Arrows fall like black snow.
Ahmed watches from a hilltop, aghast.
AHMED (V.O.)
Once they fought together against the shadow. Now they carve each other for crowns made of ice.
He turns as a shadow moves behind him — a whisper of bone and fur. A WENDOL mask, crude jaw of bear, gleams in moonlight.
ACT I — “THE SECOND EXILE”
EXT. LONGHOUSE – DAY
Ahmed enters a war-torn Norse hall, burned but still standing.
He is greeted by THORVALD BJORNSSON, grizzled veteran of Buliwyf’s old band.
THORVALD
I thought you dead, Arab.
AHMED
Many think so. Allah spares fools and writers.
THORVALD
Then write this: our gods are dying, our sons fight for Rūs silver.
He pours ale into Ahmed’s cup.
THORVALD (cont’d)
The Wendol are seen again.
AHMED
Impossible. Their Mother was slain.
THORVALD
Aye. But the earth has many wombs.
Lightning flashes. In the hills, horns echo — deep, ancient, inhuman.
EXT. WENDOL CAVES – NIGHT
A torch procession — hundreds of Wendol, scarred and painted, descend from the mountains.
Their new leader: THE RED MOTHER, young, blind, wrapped in bear hides. She raises a bone staff.
RED MOTHER (Old Norse mixed with guttural speech)
The sons of fire and sea have broken the world. We take it back.
The Wendol beat drums of hide. Their chant becomes thunder.
ACT II — “THE WAR OF THREE TRIBES”
EXT. SNOW PLAIN – DAWN
A Nordic host marches, banners stiff in the wind. Beside them, Rūs mercenaries — chainmail and icons.
An uneasy alliance. Ahmed rides between them — translator, scholar, reluctant prophet.
RUS CAPTAIN IVAR
(to Ahmed)
You tell them we fight for God.
AHMED
Which God, Captain?
IVAR
The one with victory.
They ride past frozen corpses impaled on stakes — Wendol warning signs.
AHMED (V.O.)
I prayed to one God, but in this land, even the snow had idols.
EXT. FROZEN LAKE – MIDDAY
Scouts vanish beneath the ice. A dark Wendol warband bursts from snow caves, spears screaming.
Chaos. Men drown in slush.
Ahmed is pulled under — the world goes silent — then KARR, the Wendol he once knew, drags him out.
Older, scarred, but alive.
KARR
(rough Old Norse)
Bridge-man returns. To burn again?
AHMED
To stop the burning.
KARR
Too late. Fire has children now.
He vanishes into smoke.
EXT. CAMP – NIGHT
The Norse and Rūs bicker around fires.
IVAR
(derisive)
His gods are sand and ink. He knows nothing of war.
THORVALD
He knows enough to write your death true.
Ahmed watches, silent. Then — a drumbeat from the forest.
Everyone stills.
AHMED (V.O.)
When the Wendol beat their drums, it was not to march… but to summon.
The Red Mother appears in the treeline — flanked by her bone-masked guards.
She raises her staff. The ground moves.
Hundreds of Wendol pour from mist.
THORVALD
Shield wall!
The night erupts. Axes clash, blades flash, spears break.
Wendol fall, rise, fall again. They chant between dying breaths.
WENDOL (chanting)
Jörð lifir. Bear returns. Fire eats sun.
Ahmed fights, not as a warrior, but a survivor — ducking, parrying, praying under his breath.
EXT. HILL OF BONES – AFTER BATTLE
Corpses like driftwood.
Thorvald sits bleeding, laughing bitterly.
THORVALD
You’ll write about this, Arab?
AHMED
If I live.
THORVALD
Then lie beautifully. The world deserves one true saga.
He dies, smiling.
EXT. WENDOL SHRINE – NIGHT
Ahmed wanders into the Wendol’s sacred ground — stone pillars, firepits, carvings of bears and stars.
The Red Mother waits.
RED MOTHER
You speak like Karr. Words that heal and cut.
AHMED
You kill to remember. I write to remember.
RED MOTHER
Both are blood.
She lifts a bone knife — then hesitates.
RED MOTHER
Once, our cave burned. You watched.
AHMED
I buried the dead.
RED MOTHER
Then you understand. This is the last dawn for all tribes.
She stabs her palm, lets blood drip into the snow.
RED MOTHER (cont’d)
Peace dies with me.
Ahmed grabs her wrist — desperate.
AHMED
Or peace begins with you.
He drives his own dagger into his hand, joining blood.
The snow hisses where it lands.
AHMED (Arabic, whispering)
La ilaha illa Allah…
For a heartbeat, everything is still.
The wind changes direction.
ACT III — “THE LAST STAND”
EXT. FJORD – DAY
The final battlefield.
Norse and Rūs stand together on frozen cliffs — enemies turned brothers.
Drums roll across the ice — the Wendol horde, tens of thousands, advancing through fog.
AHMED (V.O.)
I saw armies of men and beasts, all born of the same earth, all willing to die for names they no longer remembered.
THORVALD’S SON
(to the line)
Shield wall! Hold!
The Wendol crash like an avalanche.
Spears snap. Shields buckle.
Rūs war priests chant Kyrie Eleison; Norse shout “For Odin!”; Ahmed whispers his prayer.
The sounds merge into one raw human roar.
The Red Mother watches from a cliff — eyes blind, but tears silver.
RED MOTHER (chanting)
The fire eats, the bear sleeps. The dawn belongs to no man.
A flaming arrow — Ahmed’s hand steady — flies and strikes her staff.
It shatters.
The Wendol scream — their rhythm breaks.
The Norse charge, howling.
In the chaos, Ahmed sees Karr fall — impaled, smiling at him.
KARR
(weak, Old Norse)
Bridge… holds.
He dies as snow falls like ash.
EXT. AFTERMATH – DUSK
The Wendol are gone. Only wind and ravens remain.
Ahmed stands at the fjord’s edge, burned, tired.
The Rūs Captain limps over.
IVAR
It’s done.
AHMED
Nothing is done. We killed our shadow, not our hunger.
Ivar spits into the snow.
IVAR
Then write it so we don’t forget.
He walks off.
Ahmed kneels, picks up a shard of the Red Mother’s staff. He sets it beside a broken Viking sword.
AHMED (V.O.)
In their deaths, they made a bridge of blood and ice.
Perhaps, in the next world, it will hold.
He looks to the horizon — aurora flickering.
AHMED (soft)
Peace be upon the north, and those who learn to live beneath its sky.
FADE OUT.
TITLE CARD:
EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND
“And God knows best who eats, and who is eaten.”
END
EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND
(Based on characters and themes from Michael Crichton’s “Eaters of the Dead”)
Screenplay by: Kalifornia Jani & ChatGPT
FADE IN:
EXT. THE VOLGA RIVER – DUSK
A river wide as a kingdom. Mist rises from the black current.
A small Arab galley rows north through reeds and dying sunlight.
At the prow, wrapped in wool and prayer, stands AHMED IBN FADLĀN, mid-40s now. His eyes, still bright, have seen too much.
AHMED (V.O.)
In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful —
I was once sent to these northern lands as a scholar.
I return now as a witness.
To what end, only God knows.
He fingers an old bronze coin engraved with runes — a relic from his first journey.
Wind howls through the pines ahead. The sky glows crimson.
EXT. NORDIC COAST – NIGHT
The galley beaches on frozen shore.
Smoke pillars rise in the distance — burning longhouses.
Ahmed disembarks, wrapped in furs. He kneels, touches snow.
AHMED (V.O.)
Once I thought this place the end of the world.
But the world has no ends — only circles that return.
He hears a horn blast — deep, ancient.
He looks up toward a ridge of fire.
Silhouettes fight against the flames — VIKINGS vs. RŪS.
Steel on steel. Men in wolf pelts clashing with men in iron mail.
Ahmed climbs, breath clouding. The stench of burning flesh thickens.
AHMED (V.O.)
They once stood together against the dark.
Now, they make darkness of their own.
EXT. RIDGE ABOVE BATTLEFIELD – CONTINUOUS
The fighting below is chaos.
Ahmed watches, frozen — until a massive figure in red furs breaks through the smoke, dragging a spear like a banner.
A dying Rūs warrior crawls to Ahmed, clutching his leg.
RŪS WARRIOR
(in Russian)
Medvedi...
— the bears... they’ve come back...
He dies.
Ahmed turns. Through the smoke, he glimpses figures not quite men — broad, furred, painted with ash and bone.
Their eyes burn in firelight. The Wendol.
EXT. BURNT LONGHOUSE – LATER
Wind moans through the ruin.
Charred beams. Half-buried bodies.
Ahmed steps inside. A single rune stone stands intact — carved with the symbol of a bear, newly daubed in blood.
AHMED (V.O.)
Their Mother was slain years ago.
But the earth has many wombs.
Footsteps crunch behind him.
VOICE (O.S.)
You should have stayed in the south, Arab.
Ahmed spins.
A huge Norseman — THORVALD BJORNSSON, bearded, scarred, the last of Buliwyf’s kin.
They stare — recognition dawning.
THORVALD
By the gods… Ahmed ibn Fadlan.
You lived.
AHMED
So did you. For your sins or your virtues?
Thorvald laughs grimly.
THORVALD
For neither. For war.
He offers a horn of mead. Ahmed takes it, drinks reluctantly.
THORVALD (cont’d)
The Wendol return.
The Rūs raid our coasts.
The sky bleeds every night.
We’re too tired to bury our dead.
AHMED
And yet you fight.
THORVALD
It’s all we remember how to do.
He lifts his cloak, revealing a deep bite scar on his side — jagged, too wide for human jaws.
THORVALD (cont’d)
Tell me, scholar — did your Allah send beasts to test men,
or did men make beasts of themselves?
Ahmed looks away.
AHMED (V.O.)
In his question, I heard the truth of both worlds.
EXT. VILLAGE EDGE – NIGHT
Ahmed and Thorvald stand at the cliff above the fjord.
The northern lights flicker red and green, dancing like spirits.
Below, half-buried in ice, lie shattered longships — Rūs and Norse alike.
THORVALD
The Rūs came with crosses and iron.
We fought. Then the Wendol came —
out of the mountains, out of memory.
Now even the dead fear to rise.
A distant drumbeat carries through the pines.
Slow. Heavy. Primitive.
Ahmed stiffens.
AHMED
That sound...
THORVALD
Aye.
The same you heard long ago, when the Eaters came for us.
They listen as the drums echo over the water, closer now.
THORVALD (cont’d)
They hunt again.
And this time, they hunt all men.
EXT. WENDOL CAVES – SAME NIGHT
A torch procession descends through a glacial canyon.
Hundreds of WENDOL, draped in bear hides and bone, emerge into a massive cavern lit by fire and oil.
At the center stands THE RED MOTHER — blind, young, her eyes sewn shut with sinew.
Her skin painted with red clay; her hair tangled with feathers.
Around her are stone idols of bears, cracked and ancient.
She raises a bone staff carved with runes that predate language itself.
RED MOTHER (in guttural Old Norse)
The sea-men have forgotten the old gods.
The fire-men burn our caves.
We take the north again.
The Wendol chant — a low growl that shakes the earth.
WENDOL (chanting)
Jörð lifir. Björn kemur.
(The earth lives. The bear returns.)
Smoke pours from the cave mouth like the breath of a god.
EXT. LONGHOUSE – LATER THAT NIGHT
Ahmed writes by lamplight as Thorvald sharpens his axe.
AHMED (V.O.)
The bear-men gather in the dark.
The Rūs to the east, the Norse to the west.
And I, the foreigner, again between them —
a bridge over a river of blood.
Thunder rolls over the mountains.
The drums return, distant yet closer.
THORVALD
They come.
And this time, even Odin may not want us.
He stands, hefts his axe.
THORVALD (cont’d)
If I fall, write it brave, Arab.
No one likes a coward’s saga.
AHMED
I’ll write it true. That’s worse.
They share a grim laugh.
EXT. MOUNTAIN PASS – DAWN
Snow. Silence.
From the mist ahead comes a procession of Rūs mercenaries — fur-lined helmets, icons swinging from their necks.
At their head, CAPTAIN IVAR, young, cold-eyed.
He halts before Thorvald’s warband.
IVAR
We come for the same prey.
The Wendol took our frontier forts.
Our Tsar demands their extinction.
THORVALD
And we demand their blood.
So we agree — for once.
They clasp arms roughly.
AHMED (V.O.)
Enemies joined by fear.
It is the oldest peace known to man.
EXT. SNOWFIELD CAMP – NIGHT
The allied camp sprawls across the plain.
Fires flicker in the snow.
Men drink, pray, sharpen blades.
Ahmed kneels apart, writing by firelight.
AHMED (V.O.)
They asked me which god would save us.
I told them the truth — none.
Only men who remember mercy in war.
A shadow moves across the fire.
Ahmed looks up.
Standing there — KARR, older Wendol warrior, scars deep as valleys.
Their eyes meet.
KARR
(in broken Norse)
Bridge-man returns.
To watch, or to die?
Ahmed stands slowly.
AHMED
To end it. For all of us.
Karr studies him.
KARR
Fire eats everything. Even peace.
He turns and vanishes into the storm.
Ahmed exhales, shaken.
EXT. FROZEN LAKE – MORNING
The alliance marches through fog and snow.
The lake is a mirror of ice.
A lone raven circles overhead.
Then — the ice cracks.
Men scream as Wendol spears burst through the crust.
Figures rise from beneath — painted black, howling — they had waited under the lake.
The trap is perfect.
The Battle of the Ice begins.
THORVALD
SHIELDS! SHIELDS!
Steel slams. Ice shatters.
Blood steams on the frozen surface.
Ahmed ducks as a spear whistles past. He slips, slashes a Wendol’s thigh.
He mutters a prayer with every strike.
AHMED (V.O.)
Faith is a sword sharper than steel —
but both draw blood the same.
Thorvald roars, cleaving through two Wendol.
Ivar’s Rūs fire arrows into the mist — the lake glows red.
And in the chaos, a horn sounds from the north — answering the Wendol drums.
Thorvald looks up, horrified.
THORVALD
They’re calling more!
Ahmed looks to the ridge — hundreds more Wendol, bearing torches, descending like a flood.
AHMED (V.O.)
We fought the darkness once.
This time, it came for all of us.
FADE OUT.
TITLE CARD:
PART II – “THE WAR OF THREE TRIBES”
Part II – “The War of Three Tribes”
FADE IN:
EXT. SNOWFIELD – CONTINUOUS
White chaos.
Smoke, blood, and steam twist together as the alliance reels.
AHMED IBN FADLĀN stumbles through fog, sword slick with frost.
The WENDOL vanish into trees, their drums fading like heartbeats.
Silence falls.
THORVALD BJORNSSON collapses beside a frozen corpse, chest heaving.
THORVALD
That was no battle. It was a warning.
Ahmed kneels, touches a fallen Wendol’s face — painted red and bone-white.
AHMED
They fight like they’ve nothing left to lose.
IVAR, the Rūs captain, strides over, wiping blood from his blade.
IVAR
Then we give them what they want.
He kicks the Wendol body into the ice.
Ahmed’s gaze hardens.
AHMED
Your God and theirs both demand too much blood.
IVAR
And yours doesn’t?
A tense silence.
THORVALD (O.S.)
Enough.
We bleed the same.
Let’s see where their ghosts sleep.
EXT. FROZEN VALLEY – DAY
The alliance marches through endless white.
A black trail of smoke curls up from the distant treeline.
IVAR (grim)
Their lair.
They advance.
Banners of Norse and Rūs flutter beside each other for the first time in memory.
EXT. WENDOL BURIAL FIELD – LATER
The smoke rises from pyres of bones.
Totems of bear skulls, painted in ochre, line the perimeter.
Ahmed dismounts, kneeling.
The snow is littered with children’s toys — carved bone animals, beads, stones.
AHMED (V.O.)
These were not monsters.
They were a people — forgotten by the world, remembered only by fear.
A Norse SCOUT vomits.
SCOUT
They burned their own dead.
THORVALD
So the gods can smell them.
A low hum begins — faint, rhythmic, vibrating through the earth.
The men look around, frightened.
IVAR
What is that?
AHMED
Their prayer.
The hum grows louder — the sound of a thousand throats.
The Wendol rise from snowbanks and hollow mounds, unseen till now.
THORVALD
Shield wall!
The WENDOL ARMY erupts from the white earth — a tidal wave of fur, teeth, and clubs.
Screams.
Steel flashes.
The field turns red.
EXT. THE RIDGE ABOVE – CONTINUOUS
From the ridge, THE RED MOTHER stands with her guards, blind eyes white as milk.
Her staff of bone and sinew hums with the same rhythm.
RED MOTHER (Old Norse, guttural)
Björn vaknar. Jörð skriker.
(The bear wakes. The earth screams.)
EXT. BATTLEFIELD – CONTINUOUS
The Rūs break formation, retreating across the frozen field.
Thorvald hurls himself into the melee like a man possessed.
THORVALD
SKJÖLDBORG! WALL!
Ahmed rushes to his side, dodging a club. He parries, slashes, recites verses under his breath.
AHMED (Arabic)
La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah…
(There is no power nor strength except through God.)
Blood sprays, steam rising.
The Red Mother raises her staff — and the wind changes direction.
Snow sweeps sideways, a blizzard born of magic or madness.
Ahmed squints through the storm — sees KARR, the scarred Wendol warrior, watching him from afar.
KARR (shouting)
Bridge-man! Enough!
Ahmed lowers his sword, breath heaving.
AHMED
Call them off!
KARR
They do not listen to me. Not anymore.
EXT. WOODLAND EDGE – MOMENTS LATER
Ahmed chases Karr through snow-laden pines.
They burst into a clearing — a half-frozen stream cutting through the ground.
Karr stops, turning.
KARR
You came back to write another tale.
Then write this — the end of men.
AHMED
No. The end of hate.
Karr snarls, lunges.
They struggle, slipping on ice, blades clashing.
Karr knocks Ahmed’s sword away — then stops, blade at Ahmed’s throat.
The wind howls around them.
KARR
Still you do not fear.
AHMED
I fear only to forget what makes us men.
A long pause.
Karr lowers his blade, ashamed.
KARR (soft)
Then remember this.
He slashes his palm, letting blood fall to the stream.
KARR (cont’d)
When the river runs red to the sea,
the Wendol will die — but the north will live.
He turns and disappears into the blizzard.
EXT. CAMP – NIGHT
The survivors huddle around low fires.
Half their men gone.
IVAR paces, furious.
IVAR
We should have burned them in their caves.
Instead, we bleed in the snow.
THORVALD
You can burn ashes if you like.
IVAR
You mock me, pagan?
THORVALD
You bleed like one.
They nearly draw blades — until Ahmed steps between them.
AHMED
Enough!
The Wendol will destroy both of you if you keep fighting yourselves.
A tense silence.
IVAR
And what would you have us do, Arab?
Pray?
AHMED
Yes. Together.
THORVALD
To whose god?
AHMED
To whichever one still listens.
He looks out over the snow — the aurora rippling above.
AHMED (V.O.)
The heavens were silent, but I prayed all the same.
Perhaps silence was the answer I needed.
EXT. MOUNTAIN CAVES – NEXT DAY
A scouting party led by Ahmed, Thorvald, and Ivar climbs through narrow ravines.
Charcoal smoke curls from crevices — WENDOL TORCHES.
They crawl closer.
From the ridge, they see the WENDOL CITY — a network of caverns glowing orange, full of thousands.
Children, women, warriors.
Thorvald’s face hardens.
THORVALD
They’re not an army. They’re a people.
IVAR
People who eat men.
He readies a torch.
Ahmed grabs his arm.
AHMED
And what are we, Captain?
Builders? Or eaters of our own kind?
Ivar hesitates.
A cry echoes from the cavern below — guttural, rhythmic.
The Wendol chant again.
Ahmed listens.
AHMED (V.O.)
They sang of the sun dying,
and of a bridge made of blood.
I feared it was mine.
EXT. RIDGE ABOVE WENDOL CAVES – NIGHT
A storm builds. Lightning cracks over the fjord.
Ahmed stands at the edge, cloak whipping in wind.
Behind him, the Rūs and Norse prepare siege weapons — catapults, fire pots, oil.
Thorvald limps up beside him.
THORVALD
They’ll come at dawn.
So will we.
AHMED
And none will see the next dawn after.
Thorvald nods, quiet.
THORVALD
Then let it be a beautiful one.
They clasp forearms — old warriors who understand too well.
EXT. WENDOL CAVES – DAWN
Snow falls in silence.
The armies line up on either side of the valley.
Ahmed rides forward between them — unarmed.
IVAR (shouting)
He’s mad!
Ahmed stops before the cave mouth.
AHMED
(in Arabic)
Peace be upon you, children of the earth.
The Red Mother appears in the shadows, her blind eyes shining.
RED MOTHER
Peace is a word for warm lands.
Here, only hunger.
AHMED
Then let hunger end here.
He opens his hands — empty.
RED MOTHER
You burned my mother’s bones.
You buried my brothers in rivers.
Why should I listen?
Ahmed steps closer, bleeding hand raised.
AHMED
Because your people will die,
and so will mine.
And the wind will forget all our names.
The Red Mother hesitates.
Her staff trembles.
RED MOTHER
One bridge cannot hold the world.
AHMED
Then let me build the first stone.
A beat.
She drives her staff into the snow.
The ground rumbles.
The Wendol lower their weapons — but some growl, uneasy.
RED MOTHER (soft)
Tomorrow, the dawn will decide.
She turns and disappears into the dark.
EXT. RIDGE – SAME TIME
Thorvald and Ivar watch Ahmed return through snow.
THORVALD
Did she yield?
AHMED
She prayed.
IVAR
To kill us or to spare us?
AHMED (soft)
Yes.
FADE OUT.
TITLE CARD:
PART III – “THE LAST STAND”
Part III – “The Last Stand”
FADE IN:
EXT. SNOW VALLEY – PRE-DAWN
Snow falls in silence.
The world is steel blue — frozen breath and still hearts.
Ahmed stands alone between two armies — NORDIC VIKINGS to his west, RŪS SOLDIERS to his east.
Behind him, the WENDOL HORDES emerge from the mists like moving shadows.
AHMED (V.O.)
Between the sea and the stones, I stood again —
a bridge over the river of death.
EXT. RIDGE ABOVE – CONTINUOUS
THORVALD BJORNSSON, clad in chain and bear fur, tightens his grip on his axe.
Beside him, CAPTAIN IVAR clutches a blessed icon to his chest.
THORVALD
He’ll die out there.
IVAR
Then let his God see what ours cannot.
They look down as Ahmed drops to one knee, pressing his hand to the ground.
AHMED (soft)
O Lord of the Dawn…
let the day rise for all men.
EXT. WENDOL FRONT – SAME
The RED MOTHER steps forward, blind eyes gleaming under her furs.
Her guards fan out — the drums begin again, slow, thunderous.
The WENDOL ARMY kneels, pressing bloodied palms into snow.
The drums stop. Silence.
Then —
ONE ENORMOUS ROAR.
They charge.
EXT. VALLEY – CONTINUOUS
The battle explodes.
Axes flash, shields splinter, arrows streak.
The Rūs advance in ranks, disciplined, blades gleaming like crucifixes.
The Vikings roar, wild as storms.
Ahmed is swallowed by chaos — chanting as he fights.
AHMED (Arabic)
La ilaha illa Allah…
He parries a Wendol club, slashes low, moves like a scholar forced into war.
A Wendol warrior grabs him — massive, masked —
Ahmed’s curved blade arcs, slicing through the mask.
It’s a young woman underneath, eyes fierce with pain.
He freezes.
She falls, blood steaming.
AHMED (V.O.)
I prayed for peace.
But the only answer was war.
EXT. CLIFF RIDGE – SAME
Thorvald and Ivar rally the men.
A Wendol battering ram made of bone and wood rolls down toward them.
THORVALD
Axes to the legs!
They hack at its supports; it collapses — crushing warriors from both sides.
Thorvald wipes blood from his eyes, grinning madly.
THORVALD
Odin loves a mess!
A spear impales him through the back.
He grunts, swings, kills the Wendol who did it — then falls to his knees.
THORVALD (to Ahmed, distant)
Write it brave…
He topples.
EXT. WENDOL SHRINE – SAME TIME
Inside the cavern, THE RED MOTHER kneels before the Great Idol — a colossal bear carved from black stone.
Blood seeps from her palm as she prays.
RED MOTHER
Jörð lifir. Björn vaknar.
The earth lives. The bear wakes.
The idol’s eyes glow faintly red.
Her guards tremble — even they fear.
WENDOL GUARD (whispering)
Mother… stop this.
She turns her blind face toward him.
RED MOTHER
The world forgets the firstborn.
Let it remember our roar.
EXT. BATTLEFIELD – CONTINUOUS
A shockwave ripples from the mountain.
Snow bursts upward — the ground splits.
Men and Wendol alike stumble.
A deep rumble echoes from below.
IVAR
She’s bringing the mountain down!
AHMED looks up — to the ridge where KARR stands, bleeding but alive.
Karr meets his gaze, nods once — then begins to climb toward the shrine.
INT. WENDOL SHRINE – SAME
Karr enters, limping, sword drawn.
The Red Mother senses him, turns.
RED MOTHER
Traitor.
KARR
Son.
He charges.
The staff meets his chest — they lock in a deadly embrace.
He drives his blade through her ribs; she drives her bone knife into his neck.
They collapse together beneath the idol.
RED MOTHER (fading)
The bear sleeps again.
Karr smiles weakly, touching her hand as both go still.
EXT. VALLEY – CONTINUOUS
The earthquake subsides.
The Wendol falter — confused, their rhythm broken.
AHMED sees the tremor stop, sees smoke rise from the caves.
He raises his voice, hoarse but powerful.
AHMED
The Mother is dead!
Lay down your arms!
The Wendol hesitate — one by one, they drop clubs, kneel, wail in grief.
The Vikings and Rūs stop their killing, too tired to move.
Silence falls again, broken only by wind.
EXT. HILL OF BONES – DUSK
The battlefield burns.
Ahmed walks among corpses — Norse, Rūs, Wendol — all mixed.
He kneels beside Thorvald’s body, placing a hand on the warrior’s axe.
AHMED (V.O.)
In their death, there was no difference.
All sons of the same earth.
All bones of the same mother.
He looks toward the mountain — smoke rising like incense.
EXT. FJORD EDGE – NIGHT
The surviving warriors stand at the water’s edge.
The sea glows red with firelight.
They push longships into the fjord — funeral pyres loaded with the dead of all tribes.
Rūs monks chant in Latin.
Norsemen sing low in Old Norse.
Ahmed whispers his prayer in Arabic.
AHMED (V.O.)
Three tongues for one truth —
that we return to the same silence.
He lights the nearest ship.
The flames catch.
Reflections shimmer on the black water.
EXT. MOUNTAIN PATH – LATER
Ahmed climbs alone toward the ruins of the Wendol caves.
Inside, he finds KARR and THE RED MOTHER, dead side by side beneath the bear idol.
He kneels.
Snow drifts through the ceiling, landing on their faces.
AHMED (soft)
May the earth remember you kindly.
He presses a small scroll — his journal — between their hands.
AHMED (V.O.)
Let them have my words.
I took theirs once; this is my return.
He stands, backlit by the aurora.
EXT. CLIFF EDGE – DAWN
The sun breaks the horizon for the first time in weeks.
Ahmed watches it, tears freezing on his face.
AHMED (V.O.)
I came north twice.
Once to learn what men fear.
Once to learn what they forgive.
He takes a step toward the rising light.
AHMED (V.O.)
Peace is not a gift.
It is a grave we share.
He looks down at the battlefield below — now quiet, white again.
EXT. FJORD – DAY
A single longship sails away, black smoke trailing.
Ahmed stands at its prow, hood drawn.
The sea wind carries faint songs from the shore — Norse and Wendol voices blended.
He closes his eyes.
AHMED (V.O.)
And God knows best
who eats,
and who is eaten.
FADE OUT.
TITLE CARD:
EATERS OF THE DEAD: THE LAST STAND
THE END
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